Broken
by ifonly-criedthewoodpecker
Summary: Very few things can break Killian Jones. However, recently, he's found that it's been happening more and more often.
_It's terrible, and I'm emotional about the pirate person. That is all._

* * *

It was to be expected that - after living such a very long life - he would have words that would haunt him. Phrases that left scars on a place deep within him and left him feeling just a little less than he already did.

The words that fell from the mouths of those heartless were harmless. They meant nothing to him, as those people meant nothing to anyone else. However, the things said by those who could love and were truly loved in return, would leave deep cuts that he knew were unlikely to heal. Those were the people that he held in line with his brother, for - although _he_ may never love them as strongly as he loved Liam - someone else out there does. Someone else in the world sees that person and instantly knows that they will be alright, because they love them and honor them so much that they feel that nothing could go wrong in their presence (and if something does go wrong, at least they'll die by the side of a guardian who'll not let it be in vain).

If they were able to make someone else adore them with such sincere intensity, he had to give them at least a small amount of respect. Even if it did end with his own pain at times.

The words that these people would throw at him were not things that he didn't know. He knew that he was a pirate, he knew that he was a drunk, and the fact that he was worthless had never been concealed from his sight.

Despite having such a cocky attitude, he was actually very self aware.

The reason that what they said hurt him the way that these things did, was not because their words had been eye-opening or demeaning lies that he felt the need to refute.

Instead it was in the thoughts that followed these encounters and the reasons behind these sharp words that left him in a pool of alcohol with nothing but the promise of a headache when he woke the next morning.

"You're nothing but a pirate."

 _And that's all you'll ever be._

"He's only got one hand!"

 _Once again, you, the cripple, cannot help those you care for. This is why they don't care for_ you _._

"Leave the dead weight."

 _Your loneliness is deserved. It's selfish to want them to stay when all you've ever done is kept them from prospering._

He'd smile and ignore and deflect all he wanted, but the implemented words were still there, and they stung.

They were what sung him to sleep and left gifts of hopelessness in his dreams, and they made sure that he never felt as though he would prosper.

But they never broke him.

He'd gained bruises and burns because of them, there were pieces of himself that he had lost and would never find again. Perhaps his smiles became less meaningful over time, and all because of a few sharp words. However, through all of this, he still stood tall, and his smile at least hadn't left him entirely. He even found that, at times, the quirk of his lips and flash of his teeth would even be sincere.

He was strong, and words from the mouths of those trying to rile him up would do just that; anger him and fill him with a deep irritation, but they would never make him stop.

No, he would never fall down in the face of harsh opposition, for stopping was reserved for words of a different kind.

Falling apart was left for the soft things - the _loving_ things - that _meant_ something.

"You are so beautiful," she'd whispered to him once, late at night. Her fingers had been tracing cursive "I love you's" onto his collar bone, and she'd smiled lightly as she'd said it.

They'd flowed from her mouth like honey; sweet and slow. Nothing too terribly jerking as to evoke the kind of reaction that it did.

As she'd laid on his chest, he felt something deep within him crack in half. Next thing he knew, tears began to fall and sobs started making tremors in his chest. He had hugged her tighter, and cried harder, and all because of a compliment whispered from one lover to another. To anyone else it might not have made any sense.

But to him and to her, it was their life.

When people loved them, and when people wanted them to _know_ that they loved them, that was when they found themselves without words or actions or any sense of stability.

When Emma Swan loved Killian Jones, that was when he was incapable of pulling himself back together.

His tears stained his cheeks as they fell sharp and fast, making their way into her hair. She buried herself further into him and met his strong grip with that of her own. She would not allow him to drown on his own.

For after the first time that words of such heartfelt sincerity had been something they reserved for only one another, they fell together or not at all.

Even in times where falling was less of a punishment and more of tear jerking reminder that they were finally home.

He found that many more instances of falling apart were earned even at just the voice or action of a loved one implying he was worth it.

A pat on the back from her father left him speechless and vulnerable; a smile nearly breaking his face in two.

A kiss on the cheek from her mother as they'd left the loft had left him with an ache in his heart about how far he had come with all of them.

And a hug from her son (who he supposed they now shared) along with whispered words of a familial "I love you" had him canceling previous plans with the Jolly in order to pull himself together and treat the boy with a trip to the ice cream parlor.

(Whether or not that was in line with Henry's original plan, he couldn't say that he cared, for even the boy's bribery was touching.)

Yes it was these words that had him falling to pieces, for even if he knew that he was loved, they began to break down all the other insults that had been stacked against him for centuries.

And it was hard to accept that it was now _him_ in the position of power where insults meant things to those who respected the loved.

For rare was it that a man who'd been lost for years on end with nothing but his worthlessness to ease him into a fitful sleep, would be loved so truly by so many.

And that was far harder to accept than the slander he'd lived off of for the majority of his long, long life.


End file.
